Turning Lemons into Lemonade
by moms5thchild
Summary: Chief Dennis Tunney may finally have a use for Jim Dunbar
1. Chapter 1

I have been submitting a number of one shot stories in an attempt unify my story universe. This is the first multiple chapter story for sometime and only because Ashatanii told me she felt this needed more. Well, Ash, I hope this works and I hope you and all my readers aren't disappointed. Thanks to my beta, bjobsessed, we may never agree on commas.

**Turning Lemons into Lemonade**

Chapter One

The Chief of Department was looking old, even haggard. '_Good,_' Chief of Detectives Dennis Tunney smiled on the inside, '_that means there was probably a retirement coming. Retirement meant replacement and with a force the size of the New York Police Department it meant an exhaustive search for the best man_.' Tunney had all the requirements for the job, had the inside pull and the drive. He just needed a little more good will and leverage to get what he wanted. There was no way the other department chiefs could out pace him; except maybe Sanford Hilliard the Chief of Patrol Services. If he got the job Tunney was damn well going to try to turn the title back to Chief of Police, Chief of Department sounded too damn powerless.

Tunney strode into his office at One Police Plaza with the assurance of a Caesar, he smiled and nodded to some and chatted with others. If he acted like the boss, it would be easier to slip into the position when the time came. Seating himself at his desk, Tunney started the day the way he always did and went through his in-box. Unexpected and unwanted information in inter-office memos were what made Tunney hated memos most. Today was the day the results from the department tests came in and these scores gave a good idea of the caliber of the people in his command. Today, however, the results made his stomach drop into his shoes. He got sick every time he looked at the test results. No matter if they graded on a curve or by percentages, James Dunbar had passed the sergeants exam. Still, looking at the bright side, it presented a golden opportunity to get rid of Dunbar.

"I cannot put that man back in uniform." The Chief of Patrol Services Hilliard barged into Tunney's office to deliver his ultimatum. "Maybe he can work with that seeing eye detective Fisk paired him up with, out there is no way he can control a patrol situation. Damn it, Dennis, he doesn't even carry a gun! He is physically unable to lead men."

"I don't know" Tunney looked up and smirked, "Andy Sipowicz, Gary Fisk and Jim Deakins will disagree with that. Every time I think I got Dunbar where I want him, he manages to push my plans ass over apple cart and come out smelling like a rose. So, unless you can think of something to anchor his ass behind a desk, Jim Dunbar is going to stop being my problem and start being yours."

"You would just love that, wouldn't you? Get rid of your headache and shift him to me. Well, we'll just see who comes out smelling like a rose over this." With that Chief Hilliard turned on his heel and marched out of the room. Tunney just smiled, with luck his biggest publicity problem would soon be someone else's.

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Walter Clark was sitting at his office at A. B. and C. Security. He was working late… again, drinking too much coffee… again and working just as hard as he did when he was with the NYPD. The habits if a life time were hard to break, but the fact that he wasn't in the line of fire made his wife feel a bit better. When he managed to get down to an eight hour day she would probably be ecstatic.

The sharp rap at his office door pulled his attention from the extremely dull Jefferson Park Museum alarm system upgrade. "Margie, use the intercom."

"Margie probably went home at five, like normal people," Jim Dunbar said as he and his guide dog, Hank, walked through the office door.

"Jimmy," Walter had his stash of Jim Beam out and ready to pour before Dunbar even got the door shut. "What the hell are ya doin' here? Chair's right in front of ya, kid."

Jim shrugged as he found the leather chair, "I think I might have put myself in the cross hairs again."

Clark put the glass of whiskey down on his desk with enough force to make a loud clink so his boy could find it. "So, what else is new? I never knew of anybody more bound and determined to screw up their career as you. So, you key Tunney's car or TP his house or just let him chew on his foot again. Am I right?"

Jim found the drink and raised it in a toast. "Congratulate me; I have just successfully passed the New York Police Department's sergeants exam."

"Oh, Jimmy, why did you do a damn fool thing like that?"

"And why the hell not; damn it," Dunbar slammed the empty glass down on his hand. "I had always planned to write the exam by now, and I made the bastards transcribe the whole, damn thing into Braille for me."

"The next step usually is to go back into uniform and learn command on the street." Walter shook his head. "I know a lot of guys who would follow you, but all you need is one asshole and the whole squad would fall into chaos and you would be blamed."

"That thought had crossed my mind."

Walter swirled the amber liquid in his glass before he spoke again. "Have you talked to Fisk? Gary's a good man and he's said that you're a good cop."

Jim's eye brows went up, "He told you that?"

"Not me, personally, but the brotherhood is pretty small, all things considered. Nobody gossips more that a bunch of old cops with too much beer in their bellies and too much time on their hands." Walter leaned over and freshened up Jim's glass. "Let's put our heads together and think up something that might make everyone come out looking like they won. Face it, I know a lotta guys who owe me a lotta favors, I bet I can still make things happen."

"And who's gonna be the winner?"

"Why, you are Jimmy… who else could it be." Walter smiled as Jim found his glass again, "Congrats, kid, you'll make a damn good sergeant."

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Tunney reached for his first cup of coffee with one hand as he reached for the Friday morning memos with the other. He was sorting through them when an envelope from the Police Benevolent Association labeled 'Dunbar, James' caught his eye. Opening it carefully he extracted several sheets of paper, grade transcripts from John Jay College, psychological evaluations from Dr. Galloway, the exam test scores and his arrest record. There were letters from Gary Fisk at the Eighth, Jim Deakins from Major Case and Walter Clark, retired from the NYPD. The main point the union had to give was a set of recommendations of how Jim Dunbar could be used to the advantage of the NYPD and still remain on the job where he was. Quickly Tunney scanned the papers and a smile spread across his face. This was good, this was very, very good and if Dunbar would get off his high horse and do some newspaper interviews it would boost the good press the department always needed. And all this would make Dennis Tunney look even better and go a long way to erasing the fact he had opposed Dunbar's re-entry into the force in the first place. This also made Dunbar an asset and Dennis Tunney needed to be able to point out all the departmental assets as he made his bid to become the Chief of Police... Chief of Department for the City of New York. He'd be better at it than Hilliard any day. Just then the phone rang. He shoved the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, "Tunney here. Oh, so it's the office of Chief Hilliard but not the chief himself. No, I don't have time to meet the chief today. Oh, suddenly he's available now… well I might be able to spare a few minutes to talk to him on the phone, put him on."

"Dennis," Hilliard sounded too cheery. "That little problem we talked about four days ago. I think I might be able to take Dunbar off your hands so he can start learning command at the 27th Precinct."

"Actually, I think I will keep Dunbar exactly where he is, unless he wants to move to the 27th, and I don't believe he does." Tunney shuffled the papers with a smirk. "You got the memo too, didn't you, ya hump."

"What memo," Hilliard's surprise wasn't fooling anybody.

"I'll let you know that I have plans for Dunbar. He will be taking courses through John Jay and working towards becoming…" Tunney scanned the suggestions and found one that sounded really impressive, "a hostage negotiator. He's a smart man and a good interrogator; I can see that by the cases he clears. He'll do his best work staying where he is and expanding his knowledge base to more specialized fields."

"And you'll come out looking like the compassionate guy you are. The Benevolent Association sent me the same memo." A hollow laugh came through the receiver. "You know, I could say this was a special case and you were taking advantage of the situation."

Tunney laughed out loud, "Like you wouldn't. And you won't because I got Dunbar and I am gonna use him to get what I want. Besides, possession is nine tenths of the law, so you can just chew on it."

With that Dennis Tunney hung up on Chief Hilliard and started dialing the Eighth Precinct.

tbc

Thank you and I need some suggestions and input to keep going.


	2. Chapter 2

I am amazed that I seem to be writing a Dennis Tunney story. I do not like this man, but this is what the muse is kicking my butt to do. Thank you to my beta, keep kicking my ass and making me a better writer. Someday, I may have to reveal your secret identity. Please send me reviews, I am worried about the direction this story is going in.

**Turning Lemons into Lemonade**

Chapter 2

Saturday started drizzly, making the world seem grey and flat. Harriet Tunney was volunteering at St. Patrick's Cathedral, selling rosaries and whatever at the gift shop there. This left Dennis Tunney free until noon and he decided to walk all the way to Madison Avenue. He loved when the weather was drizzly because it kept the criminals inside… usually. He could meander and not get stopped by ungrateful citizens and unwanted allies looking for favours. Like the trash on the sidewalk, the city's scum got washed away in the rain.

Dennis Tunney walked down the street doing what he loved; window shopping. When he was a kid he would stare, wide eyed; into the world of privilege decked out behind those glass barriers and dream of going inside. Now these windows were there to coax him in and Madison Avenue windows were his biggest weakness. The rain was getting heavier, so he slipped into DKNY. He plopped down on what he called the buyer benches… where men sat while their women modeled this year's 'in' styles. Sliding his reading glasses low on his nose Tunney picked up a copy of the New Yorker to hide his covert girl watching. Smirking at his deception, he drank in the parade of pretty girls when he noticed a big dog seated quietly by an unoccupied chair, one of those blind guide dogs. Tunney scanned the store looking for the dog's owner but no one was close so he leaned forward and whispered, "Hank." The dog's ears pricked up as it looked for the source of his name. _Oh god, Dunbar is around here someplace_. _I wonder what his wife looks like?_ Tunney used the magazine to shield his face. _Heard she was a looker; guess I find out today.  
_  
The Chief almost dropped the magazine when he saw Dunbar and his Seeing Eye partner come into view. The little spic doll was pregnant.

"Jim, get a loadda this one," she thrust a putty coloured sweater into Dunbar's hands. "It's a cozy and its cashmere and the tag says the colour is slip."

Dunbar's hand ran over the soft material. "This isn't telling me anything. I know what cashmere is but what is a cozy and what colour is slip? Last time I saw a slip it was black and satin and wasn't meant to be worn on the outside for the world to see. Model it for me," he waggled his eyebrows, "I can't get any idea what it is like flat."

"A cosy, is a sweater with a big soft knot in front but its ends under the bust line. Trust me," whined the woman, "it's gorgeous."

"Put it on so I can see it."

Tunney heard the woman sigh and he grinned as she thrust her bag into Dunbar's hand and slipped the cozy over her shoulders. Dunbar tucked the bag under his arm and put his hands on the girl's shoulders. Tunney couldn't believe his luck; here he watched Dunbar's fingers slid down the woman's arms to where the three quarter sleeves ended. Tunney licked his lips and worked hard to keep his hands off his crotch as he watched the sensual dance of those fingers on the soft fabric that slipped and slithered over the woman's body. Tunney imagined himself exploring inside the neckline as Dunbar's hands traveled on the outside and down past the full breasts to the large, soft knot over the woman's belly.

"Looks good on you," those long finger tips moved round the hem of the cozy and traced the top of the rounded belly underneath. A sly grin was plastered Dunbar's face when he placed the flat of his hand against the baby bump his partner had sprouted there.

"Hey, Junior, you gonna jump for Jimmy?" The grin was soon replaced by a look of wide eyed wonder.

"The line backer kicked you," the woman laughed. "Hey, Junior, do it again."

Tunney had seen enough so he dropped the magazine and walked casually out of the store. With this unexpected under cover operation he now had extra ammunition that Jumping Jimmy Dunbar was playing bed bingo again to use it to get him to play ball. Dennis Tunney was so busy planning how to use Dunbar in his next media cycle he was unaware of what was going on behind him.

"Hey, gone Italian on me, Jim," Frank Daniels laughed as he wheeled behind his wife and pulled her onto his lap. "If not, get those roman fingers off my wife."

"I've known her longer than you," Jim growled playfully. "Besides, she hasn't explained what colour slip is."

"Too damn bad; my wife, my junior and if you mean the short sweater it's the same colour as Silly Putty." Frank stopped and nuzzled Karen's neck. "I like that thing you're wearing. Let me buy you one."

"Do you want me to compete with tall, dark and beautiful Christie Dunbar by wearing the same outfit?" She leaned back to look deep into her husband's eyes, "let Jim buy this for Christie and you can get me something at, well, maybe Cartier's down the street."

"I think I'll just take that sweater and leave you two lovebirds to duke it out." Jim waved the purse in front of him and waited for Karen to trade the sweater for it. "And Karen, if Frank does take you to Cartier's; do not tell Christie. I don't make as much money as your shyster husband."

"That's Mister Shyster to you, copper," Frank called as he watched Jim Dunbar retrieve his dog and go pay for his wife's birthday present.

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It was Tuesday afternoon before Dennis Tunney got to talk to the public relations officer about how to spin the Dunbar promotion. Gwen Preston was an absolute magician when it came to making the NYPD look pure as the driven snow… despite the petty corruption that plagued this and every police force.

The woman patted the too tight curls of her new perm with a heavy hand, the latest tic to replace the cigarette that used to dance round her fingers. This was simply the latest of the little moves that kept Gwen's fireplug shaped body in constant motion. It matched the constant movement of ideas in her head. Dennis Tunney was forever grateful that her steel trap mind was working owed him and not Hilliard.

"Denny, I don't know how we are going to spin this latest little story into something good. The people want their heroes to be super clean, even if they are defective. Just like in all those comic books… Spiderman might be a nerd, but he is an honest nerd. Superman didn't screw around on Lois Lane."

"Gwen, we don't want to reveal Dunbar's little hobby to the general public; we just want to let Dunbar know that this fact would end his love affair with the general public." Tunney stood up and stretched, indicating this meeting was over.

Gwendolyn Preston knew when she had been dismissed so gathered her papers together and went slowly to her office. Every time she finished dealing with Tunney she wanted to run to the showers and wash off the slime. The file she had on James Dunbar was not half as dirty as the one she had on Dennis Tunney, but having ammunition didn't do any good if there was no way to lob it at the target. She checked her voice mail. Message one and two were from Dennis Tunney and George Hilliard, the duelling dirt bags, but message number three made her smile. Walter Clark invited her for coffee. That man had managed to hoard more favours than any other man that had ever graced the halls of One Police Plaza. Maybe, just maybe he knew how she could break through the glass ceiling here Preston thought as she dialled the number to A B and C Security. Message number four was from the Chief of Departments and Gwen Preston sighed. This was one fight she had to avoid because when the shit hit the fan she wanted out of splatter range.

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Fisk leaned on the door frame of his office and scanned the desks in front of him. It was quiet for a change, every head down and intent on the work there. The homicide squad here worked like a well oiled machine and the clearance rate reflected its efficiency. If Jim took the promotion and left there would probably be another six months of pissing and moaning from Marty Russo with whom ever replaced Dunbar. The Lieutenant knew Marty would start studying for the next set of sergeant exams just because Russo couldn't let Dunbar outshine him, but those two together made one kick ass team as longas they didn't work together. Fisk didn't want to lose either of them.

"Dunbar, my office," he called as he finally moved back to his desk. Gary Fisk had to know what was happening with the damn promotion or he couldn't keep his squad working the way it was and it was really working well. "Jim, have you decided what you are going to do about the sergeant's promotion? I have to tell you that if you don't make a decision soon I'm gonna and it will involve you leaving this squad."

Jim chewed his lip as he swayed from side to side, his tells when he was nervous. "Boss, there are things percolating right now that will all work out soon."

You've got until Friday." Fisk waited for Dunbar to start sputtering excuses and was surprised when the man simply nodded and left his office.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

This has been an interesting exercise and it is almost finished. Getting into the larger world of the NYPD has been interesting and how things in the organization as a whole would effect the members of the Eighth Precinct has been fun. I want to thank everyone who has reviewed my story and I especially want to thank my beta reader, she keeps me on track.

**Turning Lemons into Lemonade**

Chapter 3

George Hilliard decided to go through the roster of the precincts and see just how best to accomplish his latest, personal attack on the next step in his climb to the top. In this era of inclusion the best defence was usually a good offence. He had tipped his hand when he had blurted out to the little Irish prick Tunney that he would not take the blind man back into uniform. This was a tactical error that had to be rectified as quickly as possible. The best way to do would be to treat the sergeant's promotion as nothing out of the ordinary happened and let things work out in their usual way.

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Hilliard looked out of his living room window and watched the neighborhood kids riding their bikes up and down the sidewalk.

"I love living here," he turned to face Preston Lynch, the communications director of the Patrolmen's Benevolent Association of the City of New York. "Every time I hear of one of our brothers retiring and moving to Florida or Arizona I just give my head a shake, how can any other place compare to our city?"

"I don't know, sir," Lynch got comfortable and watched the Chief of Patrol Services wind up for the pitch. He knew enough about the internal jockeying for power that was going on it the department right now involved. He had heard the rumors of the Chief of Departments retiring and moving to Phoenix within the next two years. "Personally, I could be a snow bird, you know, one of those environmentally challenged people who head south when the leaves begin to change colour."

Hilliard turned back to the man and shook his head. "That is when the city is at its most beautiful. Preston, can I get you a drink?"

"Actually, would your wife have a hissy fit if I lit a cigar in here?"

"You would need a Ouija board to talk to Doreen, but my housekeeper usually lets me do what I damn well please. Light up, and I might just join you." _Not in this lifetime_, he screamed inside. Hilliard hated smoking, it killed his brother, both parents and his wife, but to get what he wanted he would put up with a noxious cigar in his home. "I hope those aren't Cuban, I would hate to have to arrest you."

"Let's pretend I'm Canadian, I did pick these up in Montreal." Lynch took his time fiddling with the cigar as he watched the Chief pretend he gave a damn about the men and women under his command, "So, why this invitation tonight?"

"I have been thinking that there is a huge untapped resource of already trained talent that the NYPD is not using to its best advantage." The Chief watched as Lynch raised his eyebrows in silent question. "Especially since 9/11 we have injured officers trapped behind desks or in precinct houses that could still be out on the streets doing what they we're trained to do."

Lynch drew deeply on his cigar; he thought he knew where this was going. "There is a capable young woman, Officer Margolis, handing out equipment in the basement of One Police Plaza when she should be working with juveniles. She lost her hand, not her mind. And Jose Estabon runs faster on his artificial limb than half the officers on two legs. Maybe you don't want him in a squad car, but if Jim Dunbar can be a detective so can Joe Estabon." Lynch saw the light flash in Hilliard's eyes and knew he had hit the nail on the head. Dunbar.

"Dunbar is a detective," Hilliard said as he uncorked a bottle of pinot noir. "He has nothing to do with me."

Lynch rolled his eyes as, "That's good to know, because I intend to use him as an example of what a differently abled officer can do, given half a chance. Maybe we can fill some of the shortages we have in the department with trained and enthusiastic people who, through no fault of their own, have been put in jobs beneath their skill levels or mustered out completely. I represent all the men and women in the association and will fight discrimination due to color, sex, religion, ethnic background or physical disability. Any officer who can physically do the job should have the right to that job. Don't you agree, Hilliard?"

"Yes, of course," God how he hated political correctness. Once this union hard ass left his home, Hilliard was going to polish off this bottle of wine and if it didn't take the taste of hypocrisy out of his mouth there were more where it came from.

---------------------------------

"Tape," Karen's warning told Jim to duck while she lifted the tape for him to go under.

"Hey, Dunbar, we got something right up your alley," Russo's almost jaunty greeting made Jim roll his eyes.

"Why is this up my alley, Marty?"

"The victim, Jason Penney, has a plastic bag over his head, an empty bottle of Seconal on the table and a gun beside the body. Can there be suicide overkill? The problem is there is a bullet hole in the back of his skull. I thought you, the amazing Dunbar, master of the riddle, could figure out what killed our victim first."

"Yeah, he's a regular Sherlock Holmes." Karen cuffed Marty on the back of the head, "how about we get back to the crime scene? Jim, it's a handicapped accessible studio apartment no stairs, wide spaces, and low cupboards… the whole nine yards."

"And Mrs. Daniels oughtta know," Marty snarked, "being she's an auxiliary member of the gimp parade. Ouch! Damn, Dunbar, watch where you're waving that cane."

"I was," Jim sneered.

Tom Selway joined the detectives. "We have what looks like a generic suicide note with the usual good bye cruel world my life was not worth living et cetera crap. The girl friend found the body and she says Jason just passed his exams and was now a certified public accountant. Hell, she was flashing a brand new diamond ring. These are not reasons to commit suicide."

"So says the only member of the squad who isn't married," Jim shook his head.

Marty laughed out loud, "There are those who say marriage is a leading contributor to suicide, but this here, it ain't suicide. I have yet to figure out how to hold a gun perfectly straight at the back of my head and I don't have… whatever…"

"Cerebral palsy," Tom filled in.

"Yeah, I don't shake like that guy woulda." Marty joked as he watched as the medical examiner move the body onto a gurney. "Time to play talk to the neighbors so Tom and me are gonna that this floor and Karen and you are gonna take the one above. Move it, people."

Jim and Karen headed for the stairs while Tom and Marty finished up in the apartment.

"Hey, Russo," the CSI tech called to Marty when he entered the room, "was that Dunbar?"

"Yeah, that was Dunbar. Why do ya wanna know?"

"Well, cause I been hearing rumors he made sergeant and that they were gonna put him back into uniform at the 100th."

Marty stopped short and turned to the technician, "That precinct is all the way to hell and gone in Far Rockaway. It would take him two hours each way to get there on transit and he might do a lotta things but he sure as hell ain't driving. This is not right. I gotta go to the union over that."

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"I don't understand what all the fuss is about," Joe Conlon looked at Marty Russo like he'd grown a second head. "You are gonna get ridda Dunbar and it's all his own fault. He didn't have to take the test. He just thought he was better than the rest of ya and now he's gotta take what's comin'."

Marty pushed the empty glass across the bar. He had said too much too often to the ex-cop who owned this bar. "Hey, look whose talkin', in every bad movie there's a bartender philosopher and the drunk cop and I'm still sober so gimme another beer."

"You are a pain in the ass, Russo, but at least you pay your tab." Conlon refilled the glass, "you suck on this and I'll be back when you're drunk."

"Joe, I want your opinion on somethin'."

Joe put his hand on his chest and rolled his eyes. "Be still, my beatin' heart, Marty Russo wants to hear someone else's opinion. Well, ya got the ugliest ties I ever seen and you think you're better than you are."

"Don't hold back… tell me really what you think?" Marty blew the foam head off his beer and looked Conlon in the eye before he began, "don't tell this to anyone, but I think Dunbar is doin' okay and as long as he doesn't try to control every little, tiny thing. Problem is, I think he's about to get shafted by Chief Tunney… again."

Conlon finally got serious. "Tunney is the biggest jerk in the department. So; how's about this, I go see somebody who knows somebody and we try to find out what's happening. I let you know and then what? You gonna keep bitchin' about this guy?"

"Probably, everybody's gotta have a hobby," then Marty got serious, "nobody fucks with my squad and nobody fucks with my friends."

"That," Conlon smiled, "was what I needed to know."

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Preston Lynch walked into office of his union brother Winston Chang. Chang was the head of the Police Sergeants Benevolence Society and he had just gotten back from a meeting with Gwen Preston. "Win, how was you date with the Dragon Lady?"

"Hello Lynch, nice to see you too."

"Come on, don't keep me in suspense. What is happening?"

Winston Chang leaned back and grinned. "It is so damn stupid; there are more active and retired brothers getting involved with this than I've seen in a long time. We've got two chiefs jockeying for a position that doesn't exist. Tunney and Hilliard are older than the Big Chief Galliano and both think they can outlast him. Hilliard thinks he can use us to get what he wants and still treat the average street officer like crap. Also, Gwen Preston is getting tired of playing hatchet man for Dennis Tunney and she knows all his dirty little secrets. This could be very good for all the brothers and sisters. I was just checking and she has enough years for a full retirement package and still be a paid consultant for the association."

Lynch leaned back in his chair, "and we here at the Benevolence Association could ease Gwendolyn into civilian live with a few well placed recommendations if she cared to find alternate employment."

"Actually, Walter Clark at A B and C Security has already said that they were expanding and would be bidding for city contracts. I'm sure Preston would make a powerful lobbyist," Chang chuckled, "and consultant for the association."

Preston Lynch laughed out loud, "This is going to be fun." He calmed down and looked sheepishly at his union brother. "What are we going to do about Dunbar when the shit hits the fan? He deserves to be more than a political football."

Chang stood up and walked over to his file cabinet. Retrieving a fat dossier he laid it on his desk and let Lynch scan the contents while he straightened up. "I was talking to Jim Dunbar, Walter Clark and Gary Fisk. I think we have everything is place to get things working for him the way they should."

"This looks good," Lynch said as he closed the file. "Let me get a few ducks in a row before we spring this all on the Chiefs. I want anyone able to get back on the streets the option to go."

"Still pushing to get Joey Estabon made detective?," Chang asked.

"Hell, if Jim Dunbar can do the job, so can Joe Estabon. Besides, you can't tell me he's more valuable fielding 911 calls than he could be on the street?"

"Nope, we'll get your wife's nephew kicked up to detective," Chang said with a smug expression on his face. "In the meantime let's get hold of Dunbar. I think he's been left out to dry long enough."

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**Lemons into Lemonade**

Chapter 4

The first round of manpower and budget allocations for the next fiscal year was going to be the topic of this Friday afternoon bureau chief's meeting. The different departments had been working on what they wanted and needed. Reports of upcoming retirements, requests for transfer, test scores and departmental evaluations had been studied by the five bureaus. The housing and transit bureaus needed more uniform officers to increase visible patrols on the subways and through the housing projects. Organized crime division was attempting to scrounge up increased funds to use outside accounting firms in an attempt to keep insider corruption to a minimum. The patrol service bureau wanted more and better personal protection equipment and  
upgrades on all the in-car computers to keep hackers off the wireless transmissions. The detective bureau was shooting for more tuition free training at all local colleges and universities to have the best trained people in the continent.

Dennis Tunney sauntered into his office feeling confident that he was going to get just what he wanted for his bureau. He had even bought a coffee for Gwen to show his appreciation for everything she had done. It was the least he could do.

Gwen Preston had a whole new media campaign worked out to show off his detectives and encourage enrollment in the police academy. With these media spots Tunney was sure college educated people would be more interested in applying to the academy. Using Jim Dunbar and his two years of clearing his case load only proved that Dennis Tunney was a visionary. _Ha, now that was a damn good laugh… a visionary using someone with no vision, it made for a fucking great irony.  
_  
Dennis had decided to bring Preston a decent cup of coffee and as he came up to Gwen's door when he realized the lights were not on. Tunney juggled the coffee cups in one hand and rattled the door knob with the other. It was locked.

"Hey… you," Tunney didn't remember the secretary's name, "where's Lieutenant Preston?"

"She has a meeting at the Benevolence Society and will be back at eleven." The nameless girl flipped through the papers on her desk, "there seems to be a request here to discuss upcoming retirements."

"Great," Tunney hated dealing with the union and Gwen probably knew that the manpower reports were going to be discussed today. "Here, I hope you like Kona coffee," he said as he dropped the cup on the receptionist's desk and managed to check out her cleavage before heading to his office.

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"Fancy meeting you here," George Hilliard looked up to see Gwen Preston striding into the Starbucks and straight toward him. There was a definite 'man on a mission' cadence to her steps.

"Just enjoying some chai tea," Hilliard shoved a chair out with his foot; this was as close to an invitation he was going to give this woman. "There seems to be some unwritten law that the NYPD floats on a sea of overcooked coffee." The man closed his eyes and sipped on the tea while Preston slid into the offered chair. "So what brings Tunney's personal Koko here to see me?"

"Oh my," Gwen Preston chuckled, "so I am the lord high executioner for the chief of detectives. He is going to be so disappointed so very soon."

Hilliard swivelled his head so he could stare into Lieutenant Preston's face. Her half closed eyes and irritating smile made her look too damn smug for his liking. He put down his tea before he spoke. "What can I possibly do for you?"

"I was just thinking about the future, and where we all sit in it. Some of us are deeper in it than others." She drew a long, buff envelope out of her jacket inside pocket. "I heard Albuquerque was in the market for a new chief of police. It's a nice sized city and I am sure your arthritis will greatly improve in the climate there."

"I don't have arthritis," Hilliard said, all the while ignoring the buff coloured envelope as if it were an anti-personnel device that would explode the minute he touched it.

"Oh," Gwen rose from her seat, "I was sure I heard you were having trouble with the cold weather here. So long for now, Chief," and with that she walked out without a backward glance.

Hilliard waited until that damn annoying woman was out the door before he grabbed the envelop, it read A B and C Security in the corner but there was no other writing to mar its pristine surface. The Chief of Patrol Services slipped it into his pocket. He would read it later, where there was no possibility someone catching sight of what might be inside.

--------------------

The meetings of the bureau chiefs had all the ambience of buzzards circling a long dead carcass. Chief of Departments Anthony Garidelli looked rough as he sipped on a glass of milk. Tunney smiled as he imagined ulcers burning through the boss's gut.

Shifting his eyes to George Hilliard, Tunney suppressed the desire to smirk; he knew his initiative of higher education for his detectives would play well here and in the media. Dennis Tunney could feel his star rising higher and higher.

"Good afternoon, chiefs," Garidelli said as he started the meeting, "today starts the interesting and annoying process of who gets what, when and why." He smiled at the faces around the table and tapped his pen against his glass. "We'll start with the housing bureau and go from there. Cynthia?"

Cynthia Ferrari, Chief of the Housing Bureau, shuffled her papers and began.

_Blah, blah, blah,_ thought Tunney. _Do I spring my report complete, or do I arrange a private meeting with the Chief? Maybe I can suggest a good doctor for that ulcer I see brewing in his gut… but then again, maybe not. Is that woman ever going to shut up?_ Garidelli harrumphed and Tunney realized that he had zoned out while Ferrari had went on about added more closed circuit cameras… as if that wasn't obvious. _They would be better off installing machine gun turrets. There wasn't going to be time to hear everyone if this  
shit kept up.  
_  
"Tunney," Garidelli peered over his half glasses at the chief, "would it be possible for you to return to the here and now. I know we will probably not get to your bureau today but I believe your input might be an asset."

"Yes, sir," Tunney mumbled. _You miserable sonovabitch, I can wait…_

"Dennis, wait here when we're finished. We have a lot to talk about." Garidelli turned away from Tunney, "back to the business at hand."

--------------------

It was 8:00 A. M. and Marty Russo already had his phone jammed against his ear with his shoulder and was searching for a pen in the chaos of papers on his desk. He finally found a dull, chewed up pencil when he noticed Jim Dunbar was already in the Lieutenant's office. He hadn't seen either of them enter so they must have been there before 7:45 when Marty had arrived.

As he watched Marty saw files strewn across the desk as Fisk and Dunbar both held a telephone receiver to their ears. Obviously a conference call was in full swing… hell, it looked more like a conference free for all. God, there were days he wished he was a lip reader.

"Hey, Russo; why you in so early?" Dunbar's partner Karen Daniels asked as she slipped behind her desk.

"Whaddaya think, Janice kicked me outta bed," he drawled.

"Karen, my office, now" Fisk called out to the young detective.

"Boss man, what's happening?" Marty shot at his squad leader.

"When I know what's happening, so will you, Russo." With that Fisk rushed Karen into his office and shut the door.

--------------------

"Afternoon, Dennis," the simple phrase made Tunney snap out of his pleasant mood. His meeting with Garidelli went well and now he had to encounter…

"Walter Clark, what brings you the sidewalks of my fair city? I would have thought a big desk was more your style now."

"Come on, Dennis, once a beat cop, always a beat cop." Clark smiled an easy smile as he watched the Chief of Detectives take a bite of the hot dog he'd just bought off the street vendor. "You know, that thing has more chemicals in it than the Love Cannel. Keep ingesting mystery meat and you'll never make it to retirement."

Tunney glared at Clark and crammed another large bite into his mouth. This was a good thing; it gave Walter a chance to talk without interruption from the man. He nodded his head and motioned for the Chief to join him as he walked down the avenue.

"Marie likes the fact that I'm not in the line of fire anymore, but I haven't been near any actual gunfire in a long time. There is a different kind of fire we desk jockeys avoid every day. I never liked the feeling of the interoffice knife in the back." Clark turned into a large plaza and headed to one of the benches there. "This I like, people watching, all the pretty girls dressed for spring."

"When do I have time to watch the pretty girls?" Tunney glared at Clark and did not join him on the bench.

Clark kept that smile on his face. "Oh, you always have a pretty little secretary in your office and I am amazed at how many of them advance to bigger and better positions in the department. It's almost as many as those who get transferred or canned for no apparent reason."

Tunney did not like where this talk was heading, but he was determined not to let this old man get the upper hand. "I demand a certain level of competence in my office. The secretarial pool can be hit or miss when they send me replacements."

"Hey, from what I heard the hitting… or was that hitting on… was being done by only one person," Clark got up and dusted himself off and called over his shoulder as he walked away. "Enjoy the rest of your lunch."

--------------------

Tunney took his time getting back to his office, ignoring the gnawing feeling in his gut that things were getting out of his control. If he acted as though nothing was wrong then, perhaps the world would believe Dennis Tunney had everything in hand and he would actually have control again.

"Jaleeka," he called to the young woman who poked her head through his office door, "what can I do for you?"

"I have a message from Lieutenant Preston. She wants to meet you in her office ASAP."

"Thank you, dear," Tunney smiled. "Have you considered my offer to be my secretary?"

"But, sir, you already have a secretary." The sloe eyed girl smirked at the Chief.

"Actually, Marlene is only a temp from the office pool. We'll talk when I get back." Tunney pushed past the beautiful girl, biting the inside of his cheek to remember to keep his hands to himself.

"Gwendolyn, are you in," Dennis called as he barged into her space.

Preston stopped packing her briefcase. "Dennis… the poet who doesn't know it; God, some things never change." She watched the Chief sit down and then settled herself behind her desk. "What brings you here?"

"I've had one hell of a day." Tunney leaned back into the chair. "First Garidelli centers me out in front of the other bureau heads and then he asks me to stay behind to talk about the new education initiative. I am now feeling good so I sneak out to catch some sun and Walter Clark comes up and implies that I'm some kind of pervert because I have a female secretary. When I finally get back you send an SOS for me to get here ASAP. So what do you want?"

"Well, I have had a really interesting week." She looked levelly into Tunney's eyes. "I delivered the studies of the expanded education initiative to the Chief of Departments office and was lucky enough to talk to him personally. We went over it and met twice more to work on it in depth. Don't pout, Dennis, it doesn't suit you. Then I got a call from the Police Benevolence Society and the Sergeants Benevolence Society. They wanted to know if I would be interested in working as a lobbyist for them when I retire. Should I retire, Dennis?"

"Not unless you're ready too, sweetie; besides… what would I do without you?"

"You know something; you're not the first person who said that too me. Walter Clark offered me a job. A B and C Security is working on getting city, state and federal contracts for security services. That's what happens government downsizes in an attempt to save money, the private sector gets bigger and more powerful." Gwen leaned back in her chair, "I am just not into power that way. Don't look so happy, Dennis, over the years I have discovered I like being the power behind the throne. There are times, however, when you have to stop hiding your light under a bushel."

There was a knock at the door and Jaleeka stepped in. "Lieutenant Preston, the movers are here for your files."

"Thank you, you can go to the new office whenever you're ready. Dennis, I'm taking Jaleeka with me to my new office. Chief Garidelli has asked me to oversee the new education initiative and it is going to be department wide, not just the detective bureau." She started to laugh at the dumbstruck look on Tunney's face. "Dennis, just what did you expect from me… after all I had you as a teacher." With that Gwen Preston picked up her briefcase, dropped her office keys on her desk and headed to the door. "By the way, my first decision was to let Detective Dunbar continue working within the Eighth Precinct, educate himself towards becoming a hostage negotiator or a profiler and avoid the media. Did I say Detective Dunbar, I meant Detective Sergeant Dunbar."

Tunney just watched as Gwen Preston walked out the door. _That bitch, the pure, unmitigated bitch had tried to fuck me over. I am gonna fry her wrinkly old ass before I leave this office today_. He slammed into his own office and grabbed for the phone but stopped short. There was a photo album sitting right in the middle of his desk. Tentatively he circled the desk and then opened the book. Inside were pictures of all the women that Dennis Tunney had ever used on his way up. Some pages were just photos, but others had point by point descriptions of the encounter. At the end of the book was a letter in a long, buff A B and C Security envelope. Carefully Tunney opened the letter and pulled out a carefully folded sheet.

Dennis;

I hope you like the photo album; I gave you the third copy of all the pictures. I have the second set but the first and the negatives are with someone else.

How is your arthritis? I understand that they are looking for a new Chief of Police in Albuquerque and one Sanford George Hilliard knows about that job already. I wonder who might make the break from this old, cold city to the land of sunshine.

We'll be seeing each other in the future.

Gwen

Dennis sat heavily in his chair. He had lost this battle, but he had not lost the war. It was simply time to regroup and pick his next battle with more care.

---------------------

"What is this place," Jim Dunbar asked as Marty Russo guided him into the bar.

"Joe Conlon was my first partner when I came out of the academy. Like any good cop he retired and opened a bar." Marty put Jim's hand on the bar stool before he himself sat down. "Don't you dare tell anyone I brought you here; I have my reputation to think of."

"Yeah, Russo the asshole is something damn hard to live up to," Jim laughed as he ran his fingers over the sticky bar. A damp clothe pushed his hands away as Joe wiped the bar down for the two detectives.

"So, Marty, this is big, bad Jimmy Dunbar." Joe quipped as he pulled two glasses of draft beer for the men. "I been hearing a lot about you for the past week, Dunbar."

"Really, am I a celebrity?"

"Nyah, you're a pain in the ass, but evidently cause of you there are a lotta people on their toes at 1 PP right now. Drink up, the first one's on me, Sergeant." With that, Conlon left the squad mates to serve another customer.

"So, what finally got figured out, Jim," Marty asked as he tapped the beer glass to let Dunbar know where it was.

Jim twisted the glass round with his fingers. "Looks like Fisk got my suggestions taken seriously and I stay with the Eighth. Frankly I didn't think he had that kinda pull."

"The boss," Russo laughed, "he doesn't got that kinda pull. You are just a political hot potato that nobody wants to get burned handling. I bet there was more crap going on behind the scenes then we'll ever know about. Drink up, you're buying the next one… you got the pay raise."

The two men sat in companionable silence as they finished their beer. Jim Dunbar and Marty Russo had finally reached a point where they were at ease with each other.

"Hey, Marty; why don't you take the sergeant's exam, it wasn't that hard."

"Nyah," Russo shook his head, "I like where I am. If I try that I'll have my ass back in uniform before you could say jack shit. Course, when I'm ready I'll do it the usual way… bullying the boys in blue and learning command from the ground up."

"Yeah, I gotta see that. Sergeant Russo, squad jerk and general asshole," Jim smiled.

"It's a talent you gotta work on," Marty grinned. "I'm ready for my next beer, Jimmy."

"That's Boss to you," Jim said as he raised his hand for the barkeeper.

"Not in this lifetime, Detective Sergeant Dunbar," Russo rolled his eyes and smiled.

fin


End file.
